Sidney sipped from his own glass, before remarking. “I shared a drink with His Grace a time or two in one of the estaminets while at rest behind the lines. He’s a decent fellow.”
I glanced up at him, wondering if he’d read my mind, but his gaze remained trained on the people across the room. Sometimes I wondered if Sidney should have been the spy.
Scanning the room, I spotted my friend Ada, who had quite recently become the second wife to the Marquess of Rockham, looking lovely in a rather scandalous gown of vermilion. It quite made my jade green tunic-style fringed dress seem downright demure. I was about to make my way over to her, when Sidney spoke again.
“I had Rufus give the Pierce-Arrow a complete tune-up today so that she’ll be ready for our trip down to Sussex.”
“Oh?” I replied evasively, while my heart kicked in my chest.
It wasn’t that I’d forgotten our plans to retire to our cottage. In fact, they’d been ever present at the back of my thoughts. But I’d been trying not to give them much deliberation, lest the panic that seemed to lurk hand in hand with those intentions rise up and grip me. My investigation into who had shared classified information with Madame Zozza, and then possibly killed her to keep her quiet, had occupied much of my thoughts, making it far easier to ignore the dates on the calendar.
Another couple squeezed past us, nearly driving an elbow into my ribs. I turned to press closer to Sidney, feeling as if I was practically plastered to his side.
His deep blue eyes met mine, their depths shimmering with heat. My breath caught as a tingle raced down my spine, one of both longing and alarm.
“Dance with me.” His lips curled upward at one corner. “At least then we’ll have room to move.”
“All right,” I murmured.
He took my champagne flute into the same hand as his own, and somehow managed to pass them off to a waiter as he escorted me toward the dance floor. The notes of a more traditional waltz floated through the room as he pulled me into his arms, and soon we were twirling about the floor.
For the first two minutes I was too overcome to speak. Too awash in the sensation of being in Sidney’s arms. Too lost in the memory of the first time he’d danced with me this way.
In the spring of 1914, he had come home with Freddy to Upper Wensleydale for what was supposed to be a short visit. I hadn’t seen him in nearly six years, though I’d been harboring a girlish crush on him ever since. Sixteen-year-old Sidney had been kind to the gangly eleven-year-old girl I’d been. More kind than Freddy. Though I’d been able to tell how amused he was by my determined efforts to earn his attention and favor. But upon his return, I was a mature seventeen with a bevy of admirers of my own, and I was resolved not to make a cake of myself.
As such, I’d contrived to ready myself at a friend’s house for the soirée a neighbor of ours happened to be hosting the evening of his arrival. It had been a rather traditional affair, no rag music or cocktails like tonight, but there had been dancing. I’d forbidden myself to watch the door, so I was taken by surprise when Sidney suddenly stood before me. He’d bowed ever so politely and teasingly called me Pip, the nickname my older brothers and all their friends had used for me. But there was a gleam in his eyes I’d never seen before, so rather than remain determinedly aloof, I’d allowed him to lead me onto the dance floor for a waltz.
By the end, I’d known I was a goner. And it wasn’t long before I knew Sidney was, too.
That same gleam was in his eyes now. I wished I could say it only brought me joy as it had before, but it also drove a dagger through my heart. Especially knowing the things I was keeping from him. Things he might come to hate me for.
Whether Sidney could sense the turmoil inside me or not, the light in his eyes never dimmed.
I inhaled a shaky breath, grateful for his strong hand pressed to the small of my back, the warmth of his skin tangible through the silk of my gown. “Do you ever think about the Lucas’s spring soirée? About our first dance?”
His lips curled into a soft smile. “All the time.”
“Did . . . did you think about it while you were away?”
His smile faded to an expression more earnest. “Yes.”
“What else did you think about?”
He inhaled, his breath hitching briefly. “Well, I thought about our wedding day. And night.” His eyes flashed wickedly. “I thought about that picnic on Hardraw Beck, and how delightfully you turn pink wherever you’re kissed.” His gaze trailed over my flushed face. “Or think about being kissed, apparently.”
“Sidney,” I warned.
“I thought about the apple trees that grow at the edge of Bar-brook Abbey that I used to climb as a boy, and the apple tarts the cook used to make from them. Though not often,” he amended. “Not when all I had to look forward to were bully and hard biscuits.” He spun me in a tighter turn, guiding us around another couple. “I thought about the wind blowing through the pines outside our cottage, and the beaches at Seaford.” He chuckled. “And I thought of that colorful Bavarian your parents employed as a gardener.”
My grin widened. “Fashugel?”
“That’s the one. The tales he used to tell, and the colorful language he used. I’m relatively certain your mother would have sacked him on the spot if she’d known the curses and stories he was exposing her sons to. You as well, given the riotous impression you used to do of him.”
“Oh, I’m sure he toned it down whenever I was within hearing, but I still learned my fair share of expletives, in English and German.” I tilted my head, picturing the bluff older man. “There were a number of phrases I heard during the war that I might not have comprehended had it not been for the education he provided. And in one instance, I had the information he shared about his home village to thank for helping me to charm one particularly cantankerous Bavarian border guard.”
The look in Sidney’s eyes recalled me to myself, and I fell silent, wishing I’d guarded my tongue. We’d been having such a pleasant time until I’d forgotten myself.
As if sensing my withdrawal, his hand on my back shifted, drawing me closer. “Whatever happened to Fashugel? Is he still employed by your parents?”
“A few months after the war began, they sent him back to Germany. To my great-aunt’s home in Westphalia. Like everyone else, they wanted to put as much distance as possible between them and our German connections, including family.” It had happened all over Britain, this fear and scorn of all things German. It was still happening. I was perhaps one of the few who felt some gratitude for my paternal grandmother’s Germanic roots, for otherwise I would not have spoken the language so fluently.
“When my great-aunt’s letters were able to get through to me again after the war, I discovered he’d died.” My voice dipped. “She said his heart simply gave out.”
Sidney didn’t reply. Perhaps he realized there was nothing to say.
We finished the dance in silence on that somber note, and then I excused myself to visit the lady’s retiring room. I needed some time to set myself to rights, both physically and mentally. Once I’d freshened my lipstick and put aside my maudlin emotions, I went in search of my husband again, expecting to find him in the parlor, which had been set aside for gambling. But someone else found me first.
I turned at the sound of my name and smiled as Max finished climbing the stairs toward me.
“You look lovely,” he said by way of greeting, his eyes trailing over me appreciatively.
I returned the favor. His dark blond hair gleamed in the light of the chandelier, a stark contrast with his black dinner jacket. “You clean up remarkably well yourself.”
He drew me to the side, away from the head of the grand staircase where others streamed past. “I have some information for you.”
I immediately sobered, stepping into the relative hush of a small alcove. Here we could see and be seen, but we were at least separated from the crush of guests. “From the War Office?” I prodded.
He nodded. “P
opular opinion is that La Dame Blanche will receive their honors, though there is still some debate whether it will be from the military or civilian division. Some of the upper brass are balking at presenting military medals to women, regardless of their contributions.”
I grimaced. “I expected as much. So they haven’t been granted yet?”
“No. And I wasn’t able to find out much about the report you mentioned, other than to confirm its existence.”
I nodded, glancing over my shoulder at the stairs in disappointment.
“However, I contrived to see a list of all the citizens employed by British Intelligence in the occupied areas who were either captured or killed during the conflict.”
My head snapped back around.
His mouth briefly curled into a grin at my apparent eagerness. “There were notations designating the networks and areas they’d belonged to, as well as notes on family members to receive compensation for their loved ones’ services, and in many cases, code names,” he delivered the last words fully knowing I would instantly leap at this bit of intelligence.
I leaned toward him. “Was Emilie on it?”
He shook his head. “She was not.”
“So I was right. She is alive. And she was never caught by the Germans as Madame Zozza portrayed.”
“It certainly seems that way. But that’s not all.” He reached up to touch my arm, drawing me even deeper into the alcove as his voice dipped even lower. “I spoke with a Captain Xavier.”
I stiffened, unprepared to hear that name. Especially not here. Not now.
Max hesitated, sensing my alarm. “What is it?”
I shook my head, forcing myself to relax. “It’s nothing.” But I could tell he would not let me leave it at that. “I . . . worked with Captain Xavier a number of times while I was in Belgium. Our last . . . assignment was not so pleasant.” I forced a tight smile, for that was a lie if ever I’d told one.
His gaze was quizzical, but he allowed the matter to drop for the sake of expediency. “Captain Xavier has been in and out of Belgium a number of times since the armistice, and he said there’s some concern because a number of Britain’s former intelligence contacts have received threats.”
“Threats?”
“Yes, that’s rather vague, isn’t it? But he wouldn’t be more specific.”
Not with Max. But he might with me.
I bit my lip, considering the implications. “Is he regularly stationed at the War Office?”
Max followed my line of thinking without further explanation. “I gather he does a great deal of traveling for military intelligence. He was headed off to somewhere again when I spoke with him this afternoon. I . . . suggested he might pay you a call, but he said he was already late to catch a train.”
So he had already known about Captain Xavier’s and my connection. I couldn’t help but wonder what else Captain Xavier had told him. But Max didn’t seem about to volunteer that information, and I wasn’t going to ask.
“So Emilie, as well as others, might legitimately be in danger,” I remarked, returning to the more pertinent matter.
“But the intelligence staff in Belgium are aware of the situation. I’m sure they’re monitoring it closely.”
He had more faith than I did, but then again, he was not as well acquainted with the workings of the Secret Service as I was. The staff in Brussels was a skeleton crew at best, stationed there to liquidate the intelligence service’s assets; assess claims; and make recommendations for pensions, compensations, and decorations to be awarded. They weren’t exactly equipped to investigate threats to former agents.
“I highly doubt they’re doing much monitoring at all,” I replied, the vague sense of anxiety I’d been suppressing for days now stirring in my gut. Something was wrong. And Emilie, and perhaps I, were somehow at the center of it.
“Verity, what are you thinking of doing?” Max asked, his voice taut with misgiving.
I scowled, disliking his tone. “I’m not thinking of doing anything. Yet. I’m simply concerned.”
His expression said he didn’t believe me, and he pulled me closer with the hand that still gripped my arm. “Promise me you’ll tell Kent before you do anything rash.”
If not for the genuine concern I saw reflected in his eyes, I might have snapped at him to mind his own business. But I held my tongue, realizing he only wished to protect me.
“I leave with my aunt for France tomorrow, and I don’t want you getting into trouble by yourself while I’m away.”
I narrowed my eyes. And then he had to go and ruin it by saying something so high-handed and typically male.
But it turned out I should have been grateful to him for doing so, because my bristling anger might have been the only thing that prevented Sidney from resorting to violence when he happened upon us a moment later.
“Attempting to make off with my wife, are you, Ryde?” he drawled acerbically. His deep blue eyes were hard chips.
Max immediately released my arm and stepped back, as if we had something to feel guilty for. “My apologies, Kent,” he replied, his demeanor stilted. “I had something important to relay to her.”
“I’m sure you did.”
His gaze flicked toward mine for the first time, and I could tell just how furious he was. It halted the scathing retort I had for both of them on my lips. Unless I wanted to create a scene, it would be best if I saved it for when we were in private.
“Shall we?” He crooked his arm, expecting me to comply.
For a moment I considered striding off without either of them, but then I could appreciate how things must look. Had Sidney stood so close to a woman, whispering with her in an alcove, I would have been displeased, too. Especially if I knew they had formed a sort of attachment, unacted upon though it might be.
So I threaded my arm through his and allowed him to lead me away. I could feel Max’s gaze on the back of my neck following us, but I didn’t dare turn to look.
Sidney led me down the grand staircase, but rather than turn to rejoin the crush in the ballroom, he instead guided me out the door. We stood stiffly under the portico, waiting for his Pierce-Arrow to be brought around. The warm day had cooled, and I welcomed the chill of the breeze across my flushed cheeks. I thought he might say something, but he merely stared straight ahead, his arm rigid beneath mine.
“He truly did have important information to tell me,” I murmured when I could bear the silence no longer.
“Had you arranged to meet him?” he bit out. And I realized what he was maddest about.
“No,” I protested. “I would never . . .” I broke off as another couple passed through the portico. I turned to stare out over the drive, refusing to defend myself so stridently against the insinuation behind his question. I’d done nothing wrong.
I inhaled a steadying breath and began again in a lower voice. “I knew he would likely be here tonight, and I’d hoped to find out from him if he’d uncovered anything at the War Office. He happened upon me as I was about to descend the stairs and pulled me aside. It’s as simple as that.”
“It’s never that simple,” he muttered.
“Well, this time it is,” I snapped, pulling my arm from his grip and striding out toward his motorcar as it came to a stop. The footman had to scramble around the vehicle to open the door for me.
Sidney climbed in behind the wheel and slammed his door before accelerating at a spanking pace. I didn’t attempt to speak with him, instead preferring he focus on the road if he was going to drive at such reckless speeds. Which gave me more than enough time to stew over my own grievances.
How dare he accuse me of carrying on with Max behind his back? It was his fault I’d met his former commanding officer in the first place. Had he not feigned his death and drawn me to that house party, I never would have allowed myself to develop any sort of feelings for the man. Perhaps the attraction would still have been there, but I would have drawn the lines clearer around our friendship. In any case, we had never
acted on those feelings. So for Sidney to imply I’d been playing him false was beyond unfair. It was hypocritical.
And so I told him when we returned to our flat. “You’re a bloody hypocrite,” I snapped, throwing my reticule down onto the bureau in the entry hall. I couldn’t recall the last time I’d been in such a rip-roaring fury. And the fact that we were prodding so closely to the worst secret I’d been keeping from Sidney only fueled my ire, desperate to block out my conscience.
I yanked off each of my evening gloves and tossed them aside as I rounded on him. “You accuse me of deceit when you’re the one who deceived me for fifteen bloody months, letting me mourn because I believed you to be dead!”
His eyes flashed with answering fire. “You’re still angry about that? You know it was for good reason.”
“Yes, yes, because you were intent on catching a band of bloody traitors. I don’t need to be reminded of that by you. Everyone else does it often enough,” I muttered under my breath as I strode into the drawing room. This was one time I was glad we didn’t have live-in servants, for neither of us appeared to be willing to placate the other, and we certainly didn’t need an audience. I made straight for the sideboard, not caring for once if Sidney saw me drink.
“Then, what do you want me to say?” he growled from the doorway. His hands fisted at his sides. “I’ve already apologized. Shall I do it again?”
I held up my hand cutting him off. “What I want is for you to stop assuming that absolute forgiveness happens overnight. It’s a process. And I want you to stop bristling at Max whenever he’s in my company. He has behaved honorably through all of this.”
He scoffed.
“More honorably than you or I have,” I charged, but then I paused. “I can appreciate how finding us in that alcove together might have looked, but he wasn’t making overtures. Nothing of the kind. In fact, from the first, he has encouraged our reconciliation.” I didn’t add that he’d suggested he would be waiting for me should that reconciliation fail. No need to share that. Not when it was obvious Sidney already suspected it. “So you can stop treating him like he’s the serpent in our Garden of Eden. We created our own problems quite without his help.”
Treacherous Is the Night Page 12
